Shadows of Once
by Iceytaste
Summary: Seasons after the "now" we know— the Clans have taken on a realm of terror and fear. Out of the ashes rise ShadowClan and their new leader, intent to take back the great names the Clans had once held.


**Hello, all you wonderful people of Fanfiction! This story takes place many seasons after the current time we know now. Read on to find out more about the story. I hope you like it****— please R&R, and all that good stuff :)**  


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"Do you remember the time— when we were at peace?"

Her darkened green eyes were troubled, misted over with past memories from seeming eons before. Before... what? The everlasting war? Back when she was just a newly appointed, naive apprentice... She could barely think past that looming, huge barrier, blocking her thoughts from that season the terror, the fear, began. How long ago had it _been?_ She shifted uncomfortably, but her eyes were set evenly with the tom's ice blue gaze.

"No," she admitted, her usually confident voice faltering. "I don't."

"I supposed you wouldn't. I was birthed seasons before you." His fur was fairly long, matted, and torn. Patches of fur were missing from his raggedy smoky gray pelt, and his eyes, once a shining day-blue, had lost their lustor. Scars crisscrossed over his ears and throat, marked from the terrible remembrance of his burden.

Once, he had nine lives.

Nine lives, when all he wanted to do was die.

Now, he had one left. He was on his last life, and nothing should have filled him with the joy he'd imagined, since he had just received his burden, thrown ruthlessly on his shoulders, making him stagger under its weight. Of course, in the beginning he had been proud. Proud and ambitious; hopeful and stupid.

What was he now? An old tom, with just a wavering, dying spark of life inside him. No more, that was what he wanted. Where should he lie?

Surely not StarClan. Hadn't they abandoned him long, long ago? He had not a sliver of faith in his ancestors. They would have never let this happen if they cared about ShadowClan— or had they ever watched over his Clan? A shiver passed through him, not ruffling his fur, of course, but frosting his heart.

The question was: had they _ever_?

Once— long ago— were the reigns of the cats he had heard in nursery tales, Brokenstar and Tigerstar. ShadowClan had suffered through lifetimes of pain. Wasn't it _enough?_

But it was not finished. It was not over.

This time, the reign of darkness had spread; slithering like a serpent, slicing a curved, thorn-sharp claw into the heart of all four Clans of the forest. Kits were born into an endless fear, a time of dwelling abandonment.

No one was safe.

The Hunters would find them all.

It was only a miracle the tom had survived this long.

"Woodstar, leave me in peace," the tom sighed, his voice scratchy and not his usual. "Return to your warriors. You know they won't trust you confiding in me."

Of course, no one trusted any cat at all— as they shouldn't.

"If you're sure, Smokestar." Woodstar's muscles rippled under her deep brown tabby pelt, not even remotely as scarred as his own. She was still young; ThunderClan had hope. As did ShadowClan, once he passed.

With a final sad, bottomless green glance, she disappeared out of the pines, her footsteps nimble and nervous, her ears erect for any sign of danger; which seemed to be always passing by.

"Good-bye, my friend," Smokestar murmured quietly, knowing she would not hear. Crickets chirped, playing a lonely, single song. The same note, sang over and over again. "You can come out, now, Fang."

And surely enough, the white tom appeared, his coat gleaming silver in the moonlight; his eyes sparkling with hatred like small shards of ice on fire.

"Smokestar," Fang purred, running a long claw through the mud, leaving a trail of wet soil behind. "Smokestar, what should I do with you? You know, you've lived much too long. It's time for you to die."

"You've killed me before," the tom reminded him, amber eyes glittering in the darkness. He slumped, weakened with exhaustion, turning to the tom he knew so well.

"Then this should be easy." With a snarl, Fang had launched himself from the forest ground, rocketing in midair with his front paws spread wide, his silver claws like tiny razors, his stone-cold yellow eyes killing the ash-furred tom— before the claws and fangs had even hit him.

_I leave ShadowClan to you, Embereyes._

Or the skeleton of what it was.


End file.
